


dirty old town

by onewingedbird



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewingedbird/pseuds/onewingedbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is either incredibly stubborn or Liam's certifiable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dirty old town

He doesn't believe it. Zayn is standing in only his briefs, toothpaste round his mouth, toothbrush hanging limply in his hand and a frown on his face. There's a man in his living room with a semiautomatic rifle and blood on his face spouting nonsense. Zayn has moved past the hysterics - he couldn't fit behind his fridge anyway - and settled on being dubious. 

"You've got to be kidding me. Have you not looked outside?!"

Well, no, as a matter of fact, he hasn't. Zayn may be quiet around people he doesn't feel comfortable with, may not have any use for useless chatter, but he's quite sociable. He's nearly always up for a pint with one of his co-workers or other but Saturdays are his days.

He usually doesn't even bother to brush his teeth but he’s recently gotten a tooth ache and figures he ought to take better care. He definitely doesn't shower or answer his phone or see the sun if he can help it. It's all rolling around in his bed watching Netflix or reading comics and having a lazy wank when he gets round to it.

But that certainly doesn't mean he should believe the (most likely) serial killer who picked his lock and is now saying they're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. He's often wondered what it'd be like to get magical powers and has had a daydream or two about what he'd do with immortality but the undead?

Really.

The man is about his age and Zayn feels a pang of pity for him. If he'd gone through his bout of depression without his mum there to force him to go to school every day, to make sure he ate and got on with his life until he developed coping skills, maybe this would be him. Well... that's taking a bit far. He thinks he’d much prefer to believe in aliens or vampires or something that’s worth having than that his family and friends are going ‘round eating people alive.

He sets his toothbrush down on the kitchen counter and spits into the trash. He's quickly sifting through the nicest ways to ask a gunman to leave your home when his intruder interrupts.

"We don't have time for this.” The man has already locked the door behind him, pulled the couch in front of it and is brushing past Zayn to raid his cabinets. He’s shoved cans of food into his pack and opens up Zayn’s knife drawer. Zayn is too stunned by his audacity to say anything but the flash of steel shakes him out of his stupor.

"Please. You can take what you like. I'm not going to tell anyone you broke in here if you leave now. Otherwise, I'm going to have to call the police," he says. He tries to make his voice as firm as possible. There's a little girl in America who yelled at her would-be kidnapper until he got shamed and left her alone.

There’s a nine year old who chewed her way through ropes and walked home after she was kidnapped. And there’s that book. What was it? Five years old, played dead to get him and his mum away from their captor. Surely, Zayn, 24, with a steady job and no overdue payments on any of his bills, halfway through paying off his student debt can handle this man. Yes, his arms are quite thin and this guy’s muscles are pressing against the cotton of his shirt with every movement, but Zayn can handle this. He can get scrappy if he has to.

The man pushes the knife drawer shut with a bang and Zayn is embarrassed to jump and start slowly edging away from the kitchen, toward the door. Yes, those kids were brave and all but Allah was on their side and Zayn hasn’t been to the mosque in weeks and crazy psycho man has… is that blood? on the back of his neck. He can have the food and the apartment and Zayn will come back when he’s cleared out.

He can fight, sure, but why take the risk?

The man puts his fists on the counter and drops his head. For a moment, it’s as if all his intensity has drained out of him and he’s as loose as marionette doll. Zayn makes his steps quicker. He starts nudging the couch aside, slowly and as silently as possible. There’s a horrible thud when one of the legs catches on a bit of the flooring.

His eyes shoot up to the man and he gives up all pretense and subtlety. He starts shoving the couch aside with all his might, but the man is on him in a moment. The struggle is embarrassingly short. Zayn, in surprise, stares down at the man he’s got pinned and bent backward over his couch’s arm. The man looks up at him in equal surprise and fear.

“Listen,” he tries to make his voice soothing but can’t quite manage it with the panic entering it, “you don’t want to go out there. I’m not going to hurt you. I swear it. I swear it. Please don’t open the door.”

His words are quick and frantic and Zayn can see a vein in his throat pulsing with his fear. The man looks small and ineffectual beneath Zayn, not so much of a threat after all despite the blood. His shoulders relax minutely.

“I’m not going to hurt you either, but you’ve got to leave, mate. This isn’t near funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny!” He snaps. He shuts his ice briefly and takes a long breath. “Five minutes. Turn on the TV and check the news. Just wait. Because you don’t want to be the fool who dies in his underwear, alright?”

Zayn’s eyes narrow and his gaze flicks to the side uncertainly. He’s got a mad man in his house, probably a murderer with schizophrenia of some sort but the conviction in his voice makes Zayn pause. There are no zombies outside, nothing to be afraid of. The danger is in here, he knows. But would it really hurt him to let this guy feel safe while he discreetly calls the cops?

“I’m going to let you up,” he says, mouth grim. “Don’t try anything.”

He nods quickly and Zayn pulls back slowly. He stands up and the guy takes a second to calm his racing heart and then he’s pushing the couch back in front of the door.

He leans his head back, eyes closed, just breathing in the air until Zayn can only barely see the rise of his chest. “It sounds crazy,” he says, jolting Zayn. “It sounds ridiculous. Zombies? Tough to kill, eating people alive, the undead, it sounds like a silly comic book. I get that.” His eyes open. “I wouldn’t believe it coming from some stranger either, I reckon. But having my mum turn on us, hearing my sisters scream… that sound, it makes it easier for me to suspend disbelief.” He looks down at his hands. “For me to kill these things because they aren’t people anymore.”

With a sigh, he pulls out his phone and holds it out to Zayn, “Google it. Check CNN. It’s all there. I know you still won’t want to believe it but you also don’t deserve to die because you’re holding onto what was.”

And Zayn does. He sits for an hour at the kitchen counter watching video after video. Some of it is grainy, some of it from a helicopter with the whirl of the blades drowning out most sound but all of it is real. It’s not some hoax. It’s not in this guy’s head. His hands are shaking and the guy, he’s only giving him this sad, sympathetic look, and Zayn feels like he might cry or scream or. He has to call his mum.

He rings up the house then Doniya and wonders why if everyone was okay they hadn’t called him yet. Right. He races to his bedroom and turns his own phone on. He’s got three voice messages. He hits play on the first and sobs of relief rack his body. It’s Safaa, Safaa’s half-terrified, half- furious voice that none of them can reach him and going small, “We’re all here, Zayn. Where are you? Please call us.”

He hits the call back button without listening to the other messages and he’s got to hold his breath to stop crying so they can understand what he’s saying, but they’re there. Alive and okay and corroborating the mess they’re in.

“No, I’ve been asleep… I know,” he chuckles. “I’m going to get there. Stay safe and keep your phones charged. Let me know if you have to move… I love you… I’ll get there, promise.”

He hangs up and goes back out to the living room. The guy is still there, eyes sharp. His face heats. “Um, sorry about - thanks for saving me life.” He only nods back. “I’m Zayn.”

“Liam.”

“Alright, so, I clearly believe ya and all but I am gonna have to get through that door soon. I’ve got to get to my family. You’re welcome to stay here, whatever.”

Liam nods slowly, eyes running over Zayn’s small thighs. “Where are they?”

“Bradford.”

“It’s a long way.”

Zayn shrugs and turns away to grab a bag out of his closet. “Yeah, is there anything you can tell me about how to, like, you said you’d killed them. Any tips? Kind of want to get there alive and also, like, is it similar to any ‘verses? Are we going Walking Dead or Shaun of the Dead or Zombie Nation? Either way, just a shot to the head, right? God, I can’t believe this.” He’s rambling as he starts piling as much food as he can into his pack. He lifts it and it’s a little heavy. He eyes it uncertainly. If he takes some out, he’ll go hungry. If he keeps it, maybe he won’t be fast enough to outrun the freaking zombies.

He goes back to the closet and wishes he had a bat or something equally useful to kill at long-range. All he’s got is a signed hockey stick he won in a raffle. He tests it against his knee and the thing will snap easily. He tosses it aside. 

“All the normal rules apply I guess. Be quick, alert and don’t hesitate.”

Zayn walks back into the room with a pair of jeans on, a Henley and leather jacket covering up his tattoos. “Alright,” he says, adjusting the largest knife could find that he won’t have to fight Liam for. “You gonna let me out?”

Liam stares at him for a beat and sighs. He pushes himself up from the couch and grabs his own things off the counter.

“Thought you wanted to stay here?”

“Yeah, well, nothing better to do. Heard Bradford’s nice anyway.”

And that’s a lie. He’s definitely seen an article that called it hell on Earth once and sure, he’d taken exception but he knows what London thinks of Bradford. Liam pushes the couch aside easily and his gaze is fierce, standing in front of the door like some type of warrior, and Zayn doesn’t mind being lied to for once.

He doesn’t seem a bad guy to have at your back mid-apocalypse.

He can’t help but murmur a thanks again though.

Liam flashes him a quick smile and opens the door.


End file.
